They saw money change hands, handed over from dour-looking whores to greedy-eyed pimps, who turned their stock around and shoved them straight back out to market. They witnessed blows being delivered when women held back their earnings or offered less than had been expected of them. In one alley, a nasty-looking man with a crack pipe between his teeth bounced back and forth from one foot to the others, a bloody knife in his hands. He laughed at the weapon, holding it up to his face for inspection.
“Let them be, Godfrey. Our business here is important, and we cannot become side-tracked by the trivialities of life,” Johan spoke to his bodyguard. He knew how badly the man took to abusers of women. He had seen, on more than on occasion, how forceful Godfrey could be when educating such heavy-handed barbarians.
Under most circumstances, he would leave his trusted guard to his own devices, allow him to work the issues out of his system. He recognized that Godfrey grew up with his fists as the tools for solving disagreements, and understood the fighter mentality. Today was different, however. Today, there could be no distraction.
“Yes, sir,” Godfrey whispered, falling in beside his boss rather than behind.
“Tomorrow, you can roam the streets and do what you will. I have no business and will retire to my lodgings, but today, we have a job to do,” Johan replied, offering the reward for good behaviour.
They turning into a narrow alleyway that ran between two different nightclubs. Stopping half way down behind a tattered door that had seen better days, Johan adjusted his jacket and knocked four times. One slow, two fast, and one slow. Stepping back, he waited patiently while on the inside, the preparations were beginning for his entry.
The door opened, and two large Asian men appeared. They wore fitted suits that barely contained their muscles. Wider than they were tall, both were armed with pistols and chests that looked like they could stop bullets.
“Tell Mr. Sato that Mr. Krauss has arrived,” Johan addressed the two men without concern.
The men, who could have, and most likely were, twins, looked at each other. They did not speak, but nodded, as instructions were spoken to them via the covert earpieces they wore.
The men stepped either side of the door and offered Johan entry. They moved to block Godfrey’s path, however, shoving him back into the alley when he tried to make his way through.
“It will be fine, Godfrey. It looks like you will get your night off after all.” Johan’s voice drifted from behind the dual masses of human flesh that completely hid the door from view.
Godfrey stood his ground, staring down the two men before him. They were large, but Godfrey had fought bigger men in his days. If push came to shove, he would fight to the last drop.
“Godfrey, this night is important. Trust me, I will be fine here. I will contact you when we are done.” The two men disappeared, and the door closed before Godfrey could give an answer.
Alone in the night, Godfrey paced the alley for a while, before heading off into the Hong Kong night. He had a bee buzzing in his bonnet and he needed to find a release.
***
The building Johan entered was a false front. Set between the two night clubs, it was only as wide as the doorway that covered it. A flight of stairs began after a short hallway, leading down at a steep angle. Another corridor followed, leading on to a single, large room. A long oval table stood in the centre of the room. It would not have looked out of place in any corporate boardroom across the globe.
Twelve tall-backed leather chairs sat around the table. Eleven were already occupied. The dark lighting in the room was purposefully set so that the guests were shrouded by darkness, in the name of political discretion.
“You are late, Mr. Krauss,” one of the men around the table spoke. His heavy, eastern European accent did little to keep his identity a secret.
“Yes, it would seem that even I cannot control the traffic,” Johan replied with a smile. He would not allow anybody to gain the upper hand in conversation. “Besides, I think you will find what I have to offer will more than make up for my unintentional tardiness.”
The voice fell silent, and the atmosphere in the room changed. Johan’s arrival signified the time for banter had ended, and the serious business had begun.
Johan sat and pulled a series of satellite photographs out of his briefcase. He placed them on the table, and waited. He did not speak. He knew the power of words, but understood the importance of silence. Knowing when to speak was half of the battle, and Johan was a skilled warrior in that department.
One by one, the men around the table browsed through the photographs, each waiting their turn before they offered the pack to the man beside them.
It took fifteen minutes before the papers were returned to Johan.
“Construction on the islands has been completed. The main building is located on the central island, with sub-units spread across seven different locations in total. Each island connects to the main location via a high-tensile bridging system, eliminating the need for vehicular travel from one to the other,” Johan said without emotion. Emotion lost you money in such instances.
“I see a large security perimeter, what sort of armaments can be accommodated?” an accentless voice asked from a shadowy area at the far end of the table.
“At the moment, there is nothing, but the structure will accommodate any mountable armaments that you feel may be required,” Johan answered.
“These look like heavy-duty fortifications. That is strange for an isolated location, especially when put in by the contractors without a specific request,” an Asian-lilted voice entered the conversation.
“Yes, the fortifications were a requirement of the building process. That is something we will cover later. However, I think now would be a good time for the first round of closed bids.” Johan had no interest in drawing out the process. He was in charge, and he needed to keep people on their toes.
The first round of bids came in and a clear winner emerged. The idea behind the bidding, as Johan ran it, was that even he did not know or interact with the eventual winner. That way, he remained impartial and could still work with any of the other bidders on other projects, even if this venture would be enough to let him retire and hand Black Arrow Security over to a new boss.
Once the round of bids was over, a second round of photos was shown, these depicting the base itself, the buildings, the rooms, and the potential, thanks to various mock-ups raised by a computer hacker who owed his freedom and continued computer access to Johan.
This prompted a break in discussions so that the delegates could make the calls they needed to make, back to their home bases, either confirming funds or requesting an extension of the existing bid ceiling.
Johan took the time to venture into the empty club above them. He took a glass of water and a cigarette. He could not help but smile to himself. Things were going even better than he imagined.
***
It did not take Godfrey long before he found what he was looking for. A man of his peculiar tastes could always find solace in Hong Kong. The women there were a talented bunch and were able to give him what he needed.
He was a man of conflicting principles. He could not stand violence against women, and the mere thought of a man beating a woman was enough to make his blood boil. What happened while fucking, however, was a different story. He became a different animal once the red haze of lust descended over his vision.
He wrapped his hands around the woman’s throat, squeezing just enough to make her squirm, grinding her crotch hard against his, forcing him to enter her deeper.
He could feel his body tense as his orgasm build, which caused him to squeeze harder, to twist his young host’s hardened nipples until she cried out in an intoxicating mix or pleasure and pain.
Releasing his hold on her throat as she began to buck and thrash like a woman possessed, he increased the tempo of his thrusts. Driving his hips forwards to the point where his flesh slapped against hers with such force, it required him to
hold her by the shoulders so as not to break contact.
He came with a growl, driving himself deep, revelling in the feel of his seed and her juices mixing. Nothing beat a bareback fuck, and throughout the world, the girls of Hong Kong were always happy to take it.
Standing up, leaving the girl sprawled on the cold damp ground, her body still trembling in post orgasmic bliss, he pulled the notes out of his wallet and handed to the girl. He never discussed the price. He paid handsomely for what he got, and the women never complained either.
Turning, he stepped over the battered body of her pimp, who lay in a pile of his own teeth.
Godfrey caught the man delivering a beating to a pretty young thing, whipping her with his belt, berating her for god knows what. The other girls had been next in line before Godfrey came in, fists flying.
Zipping his trousers, Godfrey gave the pimp a kick as he walked away.
Before he reached the end of the alleyway, he heard footsteps behind him. With a sigh, he turned, ready to fight, but not really in the mood. A hard fuck always calmed him down.
“Listen, I can’t be bothered,” he began, but stopped talking when he realized there was nobody there.
Turning, cursing himself for growing old, Godfrey began to move. Something ran behind him. Something fell, and something stung. A strange and sudden burn hit his neck and spread. Godfrey was unconscious before he hit the floor.
The three men emerged from the shadows, stepping into the light as if they materialized from the air. Two bent down and picked up Godfrey’s unconscious form, while the other checked on the pimp and the girl. The scene was clear enough, even had they not watched the whole thing unfold.
Without saying a word to one another, they half-carried, half-dragged Godfrey’s form to the waiting van at the end of the alley.
“This is Recovery Team Six, we have the first package. Repeat, we have the first package,” one of the men spoke, pulling a radio out of his pocket as he climbed behind the wheel of the van.
***
The clean, crisp smell of the meeting room was a welcome respite from the stale air of the club. The aroma of drink, sweat, and other bodily excretions held a particular pungency, which seemed to develop a uniquely sickening substance during the quiet daylight hours.
Johan was the first one back in the meeting room. Taking his seat, he waited. The longer it took, the greater the scramble for money. He would gladly wait for that.
One by one, the men returned, taking their seats in the shrouded edge of the table.
Johan waited for everybody to be seated, the odour of cigarettes and sweat pervaded the previously sterile atmosphere. The first few were cracking already. The purse strings were too tight, or the interest not there. Their loss. Johan would sell to the highest bidder and walk away, just the way he liked it.
“So, gentlemen, I have reviewed the bids and think it is about time we upped the stakes a little. You see, there is more to these islands than meets the eye,” he began.
A crash from somewhere outside brought everybody to their feet. Shouts and the rattle of gunfire echoed down the hallway. Somebody was trying to get in.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, and suddenly everybody around the table grew nervous. Not only Johan had been forced to abandon his bodyguard. Nobody in the room was armed. All eyes spun towards Johan. The scent of betrayal heavy in the enclosed space.
“I know nothing of this,” he said just as the doors to the room opened.
There was a clacking sound as two small canisters were rolled into the room. The moved down either side of the table.
“Bugger,” Johan said, moments before the metal casings burst open and a thick white gas filled the room.
The people seated around the table had no time to react. They had no means of escape.
The gas put them to sleep in a matter of moments. Johan fought it long enough to see the doors open and a group of men walk in. They wore full hazmat styles suits. For the first time in many years, Johan felt a jolt of fear run through him, and then there was nothing. He pitched forward, not even able to bring his hands up to brace his face-plant onto the table.
Chapter 9
Johan came to with a pounding head and a dry mouth. His lips were glued together with the sticky remains of deep sleep. His tongue seemed heavy and useless in his mouth.
He opened his eyes, but had already taken stock of the blindfold that covered his face. It was too early to move; he was not in the mood to face his attackers just yet.
Instead, he listened. The world around him was noisy, and it soon dawned on him what caused it all. A plane; he was in a plane. Whoever had broken into the Hong Kong meeting room was moving him somewhere else.
“I think he is awake,” a heavy American voice spoke up.
A few moments later, the blindfold was ripped from Johan’s face, and the bright lights of the plane’s interior came on.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Kraus,” a familiar-sounding voice spoke.
“You know, if you wanted the island, you could have just turned up to the auction.” Johan forced the words over his lips. The after-effects of the drugs they had used made his body sluggish and clunky.
“Where would be the fun in that? Besides, the US government does not need to attend such backwater meetings, and you know it,” the voice replied, surly and arrogant.
Johan raised his head and looked around. The interior of the plane was familiar. He had closed many deals over the years in the very same beast.
Open plan in so far as seating, a single line of chairs ran along the righthand wall of the fuselage. At either end of the long body, a cluster of rich-coloured leather sofas were arranged in a friendly yet imposing formation.
A bar and open-plan area occupied the main body of the aircraft. It was there that the man talking to Johan stood. He held a glass of whiskey and ice in one hand and the cluster of photographs Johan had handed around the table in his other.
“Join me, we will have a drink and toast our new venture together.” The man smiled and raised his glass in Johan’s direction before taking a deep sip.
Reluctant, but left with very few other options, Johan got to his feet and moved to the bar.
His drink was already waiting for him. Vodka on the rocks. Picking up the glass, he stared at the contents before taking a drink. The liquid felt cool and godly in his parched mouth, becoming a warm reassuring burn as it travelled down his throat to his stomach.
“Where is Godfrey?” Johan asked, wanting to make sure his bodyguard was unharmed.
“He, much like the others, is unharmed. Well, those two angry chinse fellows from the door, they are not quite so good, but they were given a choice, and they made it.”
“Where is he?” Johan repeated.
“He’s here, on this plane. He’s sleeping on the couch over there, and don’t worry. He won’t wake up until after this little bit of business of ours is over with,” the man leaned in and smiled. “Your secret dealings are always safe with us.”
“Fuck you,” Johan growled.
“Only if you buy me dinner first,” the man replied, his expression stern. Slowly, however, it started to change. A smile spread across his lips, and the intensity of his gaze fell awake. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”
“Likewise,” Johan said, standing to embrace the man he considered one of his oldest friends. “Did you really have to drug me? For a moment there, I feared the worst.”
“I’m sorry about that, but we could not take any risks. You see, we need that island. We know everything there is to know about it, so don’t play any games, Johan.” The voice was friendly, but still business.
Director Werkhoven was an older man, similar in age to Krauss, yet neither would admit to being older than the other. They went way back, almost to their childhood years.
Johan had grown up in the US, and spent the majority of his time there, relaxing in the anonymity of the alias he had been given: a lar
ge house in the California hills with a stunning panoramic view of the ocean.
He did not play favourites with his negotiations, and over the years, his contacts within the US government and such, had left him to be. Only three times in recent memory had they stood tall and made a demand. The first two were over simple things, each to do with the war in the gulf. Each Bush owed him a favour, and one day, he would collect.
“What do you want with the islands?” Johan asked, suspicious as well as keen to add to his knowledge base for future reference.
“Come on, Johan, you know me better than that.” The director smiled. “Besides, it is better you do not know.”
“Agreed. So, where are you taking me?” Johan downed his drink and moved to pour himself another.
“We are heading to the US. We will land in Washington, and provided we get all of the negotiations out of the way by then, a plane will be ready to take you back home.” Being the director of the NSA, Sikke Werkhoven had access to anything he wanted or needed. His courteous nature knew no bounds whenever he was in control.
“Well, I have the islands, and you want them. I do not. It seems to me that the only thing we need to agree on is the price. I cannot see that taking us longer than the flight.” Johan smiled and raised his glass in salute.
By the time the plan landed several hours later, the two men had moved through the business negotiations, ensured that the payment had been made, processed, and the paper trail destroyed. For all his wealth, it never failed to amaze Johan just what could be done with modern technology, even from thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean.
As promised, there was a plane waiting for Johan the minute they stepped onto the tarmac in DC. He shook hands with Director Werkhoven. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said with a smile and a slight bow of his head.
Johan settled into the aircraft and waited as a groggy and restrained Godfrey was led aboard.
Island Rampage: A Dinosaur Thriller Page 5